


with her I'm complete

by janie_tangerine



Category: Deadwood
Genre: CANON ENDGAME GUYS I'M DEAD, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fingerfucking, Idiots in Love, LIKE HEAVY MOVIE SPOILERS, Movie Spoilers, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, THE CELEBRATORY PORN THEY NEEDED, THE ENDING WAS PERFECT EVERYTHING I NEEDED BYEEEEEE, david milch let me love you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: France is beautiful, no fucking doubt. She’s also go as far as saying that maybe spending months in between people she doesn’t know and therefore doesn’t feel a nagging desire to shoot in the face half of the time might have felt good.Still —Still, France might be beautiful and lovely and warm and new, but —But there’s nothing quite as beautiful and lovely and warm as the woman underneath her right now, and maybe she can’t say Joanie’s new because they’ve been together in Deadwood and they’ve been together on the trip here and in each single place they’ve slept so far, but they hadn’t been together for a long time, and they had to relearn each other while they still were in Deadwood, and this that she’s doing right now, this is new, but it’s the kind of that she thinks she’s learning to like.





	with her I'm complete

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO GUYS THIS IS GONNA BE SHORT AND SWEET BUT: I couldn't believe the movie happened, THEN I ACTUALLY SAW IT AND IT WAS EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED and most of all I couldn't believe I got two ships going into port that smoothly AND EVEN BETTER, my only ever canon f/f ship actually did get into port and so I decided they needed the celebratory French porn. Honest this is basically pwp where everything is great and nothing hurts and I hopefully got better at f/f porn since the last time I wrote them xDDD have fun and WASN'T THE MOVIE FLAWLESS? ;_;
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm not worth of David Milch's anything and I can't thank him enough for giving me such a beautiful ending to my favorite ever show and the title is from stone temple pilots, and now I'll saunter back downwards as usual. Have some porn. THEY DESERVED IT.

Jane might not have wanted to see France before Joanie brought that up.

Sure as hell, though, it’s been a fucking sight for now. Not that she understands shit of the language, but Joanie does, so that’s no issue, and she has to say, and sure as hell the warm spring weather with clear blue skies, blooming flowers and no sign of dust clouding the streets beats fucking Deadwood or most places she’s been to in her fucking sorry life for now.

Paris had been fucking astonishing, with its streets that aren’t paved with shit or dust, and don’t smell of horses (or shit, or horses’ shit) as much as the ones back home do, never mind buildings fucking older than the oldest she’s ever seen back in the States, never mind that is’ nice to walk somewhere you’re not recognized or where you don’t have to take into account that someone might shoot you at any time.

France is beautiful, no fucking doubt. She’s also go as far as saying that maybe spending months in between people she doesn’t know and therefore doesn’t feel a nagging desire to shoot in the face half of the time might have felt good.

Still —

Still, France might be beautiful and lovely and warm and _new_ , but —

But there’s nothing quite as beautiful and lovely and warm as the woman underneath her right now, and maybe she can’t say Joanie’s _new_ because they’ve been together in Deadwood and they’ve been together on the trip here and in each single place they’ve slept so far, but they hadn’t been together for a long time, and they had to relearn each other while they _still_ were in Deadwood, and this that she’s doing right now, _this_ is new, but it’s the kind of that she thinks she’s learning to like.

If not more.

Thing is — in Deadwood, it was Joanie usually leading things. Because she was the one with experience, obviously, and because not so deep down Jane liked it, no, loved it, even if she could have never _said_ , when Joanie made her feel like she actually _wanted_ her and her scarred skin and her small breasts and her unflattering curves that most men never glanced at twice even the times she had wanted them to, and so they really didn’t do it the _other_ way until now.

_Now_ , though —

Now she decided that maybe she’d like to try the other way around.

So — on one side, _some things_ aren’t new. Not how Joanie’s skin feels warm against her rough, rough hands, not how her hips curve under her palms, not how the line of her mouth feels pressed against her own, not how that long, curly hair of hers feels soft and silky as she runs her fingers through it — fine, maybe they both have more lines on them, and their skin is not so smooth in places where it once was, and maybe both of them have some white hair, but that hasn’t really changed that much.

Others, though —

For one, burying her face in Joanie’s cunt is _indeed_ new, and she has no idea of why she’s never asked to do it before, when they still were in Deadwood, before she left like a goddamned fucking fool, but isn’t she regretting it now.

That said, Jane figures as her tongue runs over the wet, soft flesh in between Joanie’s legs as long, smoother fingers than hers grasp at her hair, she should have started doing this a while ago. It’s intoxicating, how Joanie seems to smell good even down there all the fucking time, how her cunt is warm and dripping wet against her tongue, how easy it is to slip it inside her while one of her hands touches Joanie’s clit, rubbing along it, doing it slow so maybe it’ll last longer — it _has_ worked until now. It feels _good_ to hear Joanie moan her name, over and over again, it feels good to taste how sweet she feels all over Jane’s tongue, it feels even better to close her eyes and feel just that wet, _wet_ softness of hers, around her mouth and her hands. Jane isn’t really much practiced at this, but as Joanie moans _yes_ and _please_ and _more_ as she tugs on Jane’s untidy hair, she feels heat pooling inside her and in her blood and in her own damned cunt.

Oh, she _will_ give her more, Jane thinks as she sucks down on Joanie’s clit, moving her hand downwards, her fingers sliding inside Joanie slowly, maybe just prodding but not too much, just _enough_ , because — she’ll do that properly later, she will, but now she thinks she wants Joanie to come on her fucking mouth and that alone, it’s not like they don’t have time for more. Later.

She didn’t have the hang of doing both things in the beginning. But now she _did_ get it, she thinks, moving her fingers at a slower pace, matching it with her tongue’s motions until Joanie is about screaming her name, and then she picks that pace up until she feels Joanie’s cunt clench around her fingertips — she pulls them out, burying her face in it, drinking from her as Joanie’s legs press against her back and her hands tug at Jane’s hair again and _again_ , and by the time she’s spent and Jane’s licking her lips as she leans back, Jane can feel exactly how much she’s wet in between her own legs, but — all in due time.

Joanie’s leg falls down on the bed and Jane moves on her knees, grateful that she shedded her clothes long before

 

( _the first times they did this, in Deadwood, she kept her shirt on most times_ )

 

just before moving her hands on the sides of Joanie’s shoulders, letting her hair fall down so they brush against Joanie’s cheeks. She used to worry about her skills lacking when it came to pleasuring another woman, but now as she looks down into Joanie’s clear azure eyes smiling up at her, at her slightly parted lips, she isn’t anymore.

“So,” she says, letting herself smirk maybe a bit, “am I doin’ this whole makin’ up to you business right?”

Joanie smirks back up at her, a soft, well-kept hand moving hair behind her ear.

“You might be doing it _very_ right,” she replies, slow, with the voice of someone who’s indeed extremely pleased, and Jane leans back down, kissing her soft, pale pink lips, giving her another kiss and another and another, the way Joanie used to give her back in the beginning where she couldn’t believe she _could_ start things, her tongue running across Joanie’s lips, moaning into it when Joanie’s free hand reaches the back of her neck, tangling in her hair — Joanie sits up against the headboard and Jane follows, moving her hands to Joanie’s hips, feeling their curve before her right one reaches up to cup one breast. It’s maybe not as round and firm as ten years ago, but it’s stiff and it still fits perfectly in the curve of her palm, and as she brushes her thumb across the nipple Joanie moans inside her mouth, her hands dragging Jane closer until she moves one from the back of her neck to her cunt, and Jane moans back inside her mouth when Joanie’s skilled, soft fingers find their way inside her.

“Oh,” she groans, “fuckin’ — and _I_ was s’pposed to —”

“I think you’re makin’ up pretty damn well,” Joanie interrupts her, “and who told you I’m keepin’ tabs here? I don’t need to anymore.” She sounds happy about it, ‘course she does, but then again they left Deadwood behind for a reason, haven’t they?

Jane moves her mouth down Joanie’s neck, sucking on a piece of soft, pale skin as Joanie’s fingers find their way inside her, feeling how wet she is around them, and she curls them just so, making her blood burn in all the best ways as she had missed for those years she was away from her — she rolls her hips slowly, meeting her motions as she kisses Joanie again, and _again_ , and they’re both covered in sweat but it doesn’t matter, not with the warm French air coming in from their open window. The last rays of the setting sun are hitting Joanie’s soft, strawberry blonde tresses, and her skin almost looks glowing in this light, and she should probably appreciate the way the entire room is bathed in soft hues of pink and orange that somehow look different from how they did back in the States —

But she has better things to do and she can always worry about the scenery another time. There’s another kind of that she likes better — the one right in front of her. She keeps on kneading the stiff, pale curve of Joanie’s breast as Joanie adds a third finger, her knuckles touching inside her in _just_ the right way, making her rock her hips against her touch, their mouths still taken into a messy, searing kiss. She moves her other hand to Joanie’s right breast, feeling her moan and writhe as she starts kneading it, too — Joanie’s legs curl around her back, her knees pressing against it, and Jane’s close, _so_ close, but —

She jerks back, motioning for Joanie to spread her legs wider, and then slips off her just before moving over her so that her own cunt is rubbing against Joanie’s, enough to _feel_ it, and then she reaches down with one of her hands and runs it over Joanie’s clit again and again, Joanie’s hands grasping at her back and most likely leaving signs for how her nails are pressing against it, but it’s not like Jane doesn’t have tough skin.

She thinks that if she has _one_ thing, that would be it, and so she groans and keeps on rubbing down against Joanie, until she can feel that she’s _close_ , and Joanie has to know because then she does move her fingers inside her again, curling them, finding just the right spot, and then Jane’s not really keeping track of anything anymore because there’s white-hot pleasure bursting behind her eyelids, making them burn, and she’s shaking with it, _all_ of her, the way she does only with Joanie, that she’s done only with her, and she closes her eyes with in mind the sight of Joanie’s blue eyes and parted lips and unkempt strawberry-blonde hair lying below her, and when she opens them again that’s what she sees, except that now her eyes are closed and she’s breathing heavily as her fingers leave Jane’s cunt and find their way to her own…

But that’s not the point of it, is it?

“None of that,” Jane bats her hand away, not that it takes much effort. Then she shoves three fingers inside Joanie again, curling them the way she’s learned, and Joanie’s so wet they slip in without a hitch, and Joanie moans in approval as Jane pushes them inside, curling them again, letting them rub against that soft, warm flesh that she can’t wait to taste again properly —

“Oh,” Joanie moans, “harder,” she pleads, and Jane immediately provides for that one need, touching the right spot again and again and again until Joanie’s clenching around her fingers again and they’re as wet as she is — Jane moves her hand away, casually licking it clean, and if Joanie’s eyes turn a shade of blue that almost looks darker, _hungrier_ , Jane isn’t going to complain about it at all. That kinda thing ain’t usually her thing, Joanie is the one out of the two of them who can do those little things _knowing_ they’ll make Jane want to kiss her until they both faint from it.

But hell, maybe she’s learning now, is she?

The air is still warm as Joanie surges up to kiss her, mouths open, their tongues meeting again and again and again, and the room is still bathed in orange-pink hues, and there’s French chattering coming from four floors below, and later they’ll wash and Joanie will insist to dine out, and Jane won’t say no because she’s _done_ telling no to her — to her _darling_. She did it once and she regretted it for years, and now that there’s no one else for the both of them she’s _not_ going to fuck it up.

Besides, French food is pretty damn good, she’ll give it to them prissy cocksuckers.

The sheets are soiled, Jane can feel it damn sure enough, and they’re both covered in sweat as Joanie’s arms grasp around her waist and she’s dragged down for another kiss.

Joanie’s leg hooks behind her knee, pushing her hips upwards.

“Do you think,” she smiles up at her, “that we can have another go?”

“I might be older than when we did it first,” Jane protests, “but no one said I’m fuckin’ ancient now, have they?”

“That you ain’t,” Joanie agrees, and then she’s kissed Jane again and flipped them over, her lips trailing down Jane’s mouth and jaw and neck and left breast, licking at a few scars she had over her collarbone, and now Jane doesn’t feel out of her element the way she had those first few times, years ago —

But who gives a fuck about _that_ now. She reaches down for Joanie’s sun-kissed strawberry blonde strands, burying her rough hands in the soft silk of her hair as Joanie’s mouth runs over her hardened skin as it travels downward.

Going back was the best damn thing she’s done in her wretched life, Jane decides.

She’ll tell Joanie _again_ , later.

Much later.

 

End.


End file.
